


One Day, I Will Remember That Which I Have Lost

by SeaOfBones



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth is different genders in different timelines, Byleth starts to remember other timelines after the Sealed Forest, I too am different genders in different timelines, M is for murder, Multi, copious meta wank, it's angst all the way down, many corpses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaOfBones/pseuds/SeaOfBones
Summary: Byleth and Claude search the ruins of Fort Merceus for the body of Linhardt, Byleth's lover from another timeline.





	One Day, I Will Remember That Which I Have Lost

Claude watched Byleth as she sifted through the rubble of Fort Merceus, ragged green hair matted with dust. He had tried to drag her away, in case another javelin of light fell. She had practically hissed at him. _It can't_.

He trusted Byleth more than he’d trusted Rhea, but they shared some irritating habits. Insufferably enigmatic at times, and always seeming to know more than they let on. He imagined that how he felt when he talked to one of them was how most people felt when they talked to him.

_It can't_. She spoke with the certainty of someone who’d seen this before, but Claude was pretty sure that no matter how much more she’d seen of Fódlan than him, this wasn’t exactly something an ordinary mercenary would have come across.

But as they continued to survive in the rubble, he could only say that she was right. This seemed like magic, and whatever ritual was needed to cast the spell was bound to be exhausting. It couldn’t happen again, at least not soon. Claude didn’t particularly want to find out exactly when _soon_ was.

“Teach,” Claude called. She turned, startled, as if from one of her trances. Claude clasped his hands behind his head, and stretched his bow-cramped shoulders. “What exactly are we looking for here?”

"I need to know where your classmates are," she said quietly. “I know some of them were… here.”

She did this every time, measuring their positions as if she was playing a game of chess with the past. She had done it at Gronder Field, moving them in strange directions that Claude had slowly realised were keeping them out of the way of the Kingdom's forces.

_Take out Dimitri. Don't touch the others._

None of them wanted to kill their schoolmates, even the ones they had never really spoken to. But it seemed more complicated than that, for the Professor. The way she had gone still when they found Ferdinand von Aegir’s body. Claude had been the one that killed him, but the Professor had ordered it. _Take over the bridge fort’s ballista, and fire it into the cavalry._

He had nudged the blood-streaked body of the knight commander with his foot, and amber hair had tumbled from his helmet.

Claude had held Byleth, huddled and trembling in the cold tents they camped in on the journey back. _After everything, he wouldn’t leave her. I couldn’t save him._

The Professor seemed so small, since he’d found her again, and prone to fits of despair. Or maybe Claude was just no longer a teenager. He had felt inspired by how brave she seemed after Jeralt died. That was how he must seem to the soldiers, now, always standing strong no matter his fears. Perhaps she’d gone to Manuela’s infirmary, and they’d shared a drink and wept, and their students had never had to know how deep her sorrow might have run.

They found Caspar's corpse where the walls had caved in, a victim not of their battle but of the explosions. He looked like he'd died fighting, straining to keep his comrades from the murderous light. The Professor crouched stone-still by his scorched body, and murmured something that wasn't a prayer.

“You think someone else was here, too,” Claude noted.

The Professor’s hands tightened in her lap. “Linhardt,” was all she said. She straightened, black robes streaked with chalky grime, and stalked on through the ruined city.

\---

Byleth’s face slicked with sweat as he continued his torrent of strikes against the training mannequin. There was silence as he stepped back. The training grounds were always quiet at this time of night. He would find Shamir here sometimes, and they’d trade a nod. In five years, he would kill her in the same way. Companionable, professional, without saying a word; two mercenaries at the peak of their abilities.

He heard a soft, human groan, and whipped around to find the source, hand gripping his sword. Linhardt uncurled himself from the pile of straw that lined the back of the room, stuffing knocked from training mannequins.

Byleth was never much of a talker at the start of a cycle. He strode closer, and stopped. “How long have you been watching?”

“I have no idea,” Linhardt said calmly. He stretched his mouth to let out a mewling yawn, like a kitten might make. “Caspar said you’re an excellent fighter, so I thought I might watch, since I was already comfortable. I can’t tell you if he was correct, of course. I have no idea what an excellent fighter looks like. But your movements are very smooth, soothing almost. I must have fallen asleep.”

Byleth sheathed his sword. “You fell asleep,” he repeated.

Linhardt nodded languidly. His hair was mussed, and decorated with odd pieces of straw. “You must have been at that for a while, if I’ve had a nap and you’ve not noticed. Do you not get bored, hitting things with your sword over and over again?”

“I have trouble sleeping,” Byleth replied tersely. “It helps if I tire myself out.”

“How strange,” Linhardt remarked. “I have no trouble sleeping, and yet I find that I’m always tired. I try to avoid doing anything that might tire me further.”

“I only ever see you nap,” Byleth observed. It must have been the midnight, for him to be so open. “Do you ever sleep through the night?”

Linhardt shrugged. Byleth couldn’t read him, yet. He was used to people complaining that they couldn’t read _him_, so it didn’t bother him.

“I could teach you to swordfight,” Byleth suggested, gesturing to the training weapons that lined the walls. “It may help, if you’re sleeping restlessly.”

Linhardt cringed, face turning a stark white. “Goodness, no. I would rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

Byleth thought about Zanado Canyon. Most of the other Eagles had taken the killing in their step. Linhardt had thrown up so hard he'd passed out. Byleth and Caspar had carefully carried Linhardt's limp body back to the monastery between their shoulders. Caspar had taken a break from challenging Byleth to fights after that, at least for a few days. Even thanked him, in his own way, undercutting his meaning with how he spoke. Bursting with fidgeting energy, _I guess you're alright, Professor._

But now that he’d mentioned training, Byleth’s mind returned to the tangled problem of how to instruct his students, the terrain and tactical problems of their next mission. “If someone breaks through our lines, I want to make sure you can defend yourself.”

Linhardt smiled blandly, eyes like mirrors. “If that happens, Professor, then I expect I will die, sword or no.”

He started to get up. Byleth offered a dark-gloved hand, and pulled him from the straw.

\---

"Do you believe in multiple universes, Claude?" Byleth asked. Not long after they’d been reunited, standing under the moonlight on Garreg Mach’s ramparts. If she hadn’t said his name, Claude would have taken it as one of her trances. They worried him, but they were useful for his schemes. The way she would go into reveries, and mutter to herself. People thought she was speaking to the goddess.

He’d asked her about it, of course. She’d said she was remembering something.

"Is that where you're telling me you went for five years, Teach?" Claude asked. “Another universe?”

He thought the trances had started when they’d reunited, but maybe it was like her grief, something she could only show him now that they were equals. He’d tried asking Manuela, and gotten nowhere. _Oh Claude, I’d never share another lady’s secrets._

Byleth almost smiled. “Is it any less believable than thinking I slept for five years?”

“I guess not,” Claude laughed.

“I’ve been thinking about them,” she murmured. She stared ahead glassily, the moonlight casting cataracts across her pupils. “Imagine you are in a world where, no matter what you do, not everybody can be happy.”

The grim seriousness of her voice was like a whirlpool, drawing him in. “I’m imagining it,” he replied.

“Would it be better for that world to exist several times, so that there exists a world where each person has their chance at happiness? Or would that create magnitudes more pain?”

“Always with the tough questions, Teach.” Claude leaned against the ramparts and grinned. “It hasn’t escaped me that you’re talking about Edelgard. We both want the same thing, so to speak. And right now, there’s only a world where she wins, and a world where we do. It would be nice to believe there’s a world where we could work towards our dreams together.”

She was smiling sadly, hands clasped against the rampart. “I’ve been trying to find it,” she said quietly. “It’s why I chose you, Claude. You… seemed like a peacemaker. But I’d need to go back to before I met you all, I think. Before my time at the monastery. Before…” And she laughed, strangely. “Before The Beginning herself.”

Claude lowered his eyes, and scratched at his stubble. “I don’t like the idea of the inevitable,” he said. But if someone could have stopped this, he couldn’t help but think it would have been her. “No matter what happened in the past, we’ve got to make this future the best we can.”

She nodded carefully, and took his hand. With his gloves on, Claude couldn’t feel her skin, only the insubstantial pressure of her touch. Almost nothing, as if she was a ghost, as if he’d dreamt her.

\---

Byleth checked on everyone. But he definitely checked on Linhardt when he didn't come to class. Sometimes he was in the library, and Byleth left him to his latest fascination. He'd taken an interest in fishing last month, lounging lazily on the pier in the autumn sunlight and critiquing Byleth's casting technique. But sometimes he wasn't, and Byleth had to be sure he hadn't been taken by one of his black, restless moods. He'd been having them more and more since Remire.

Byleth knocked carefully on the door to Linhardt's room, then pushed it open through the thick mess of books and knick-knacks strewn across the floor. Linhardt was at his desk, head down, resting against his arms.

"Linhardt," Byleth sighed. He crossed the room to nudge his shoulder. "Sometimes, you sleep so much you might as well be dead." He regretted the words as soon as he'd said them. They were Jeralt's, not his. _Sometimes, you sleep so deeply I can't tell if your heart is beating._

Linhardt raised his head gently, thick, silken hair hanging heavy around his strange, dark eyes. "If you really think about it," he drawled, stretching his arms out in front of him. "One will spend more time dead than alive. In the long-term, I mean. I'm researching what that might feel like."

“And what have you found out?” Byleth asked, leaning against Linhardt's desk.

Linhardt cupped his face in his hands, staring into nothing as if he were sleepwalking. “I dreamt that I was sleeping in an old, abandoned castle,” he said. “Not too different from Garreg Mach, I suppose. You woke me up in the dream, too.”

“Do you think the dead dream?” Byleth asked. It was a thought he’d come back to more and more recently. Sothis had only spoken to him in dreams, once. Then he’d almost died. He wondered if, when he finally fell as all mercenaries do, he would find himself in that green room again.

Linhardt smiled vaguely. “You really aren’t familiar with Seiros’ teachings, are you? Though I suppose you could still ask, if you were. I certainly do.”

Byleth shrugged, and settled back against the wall. He liked listening to Linhardt explain things; it meant he didn’t have to say anything.

“If we do go somewhere after death, then I suppose one would continue to sleep and dream and wake as normal,” Linhardt said. He sat up a little, eyes brightening as he fell into a focus. “If we do go nowhere, I think that would be my hope. That it would be like one long nap. And that in those dreams, we could do as we pleased.”

“Sleep, for instance,” Byleth noted.

“I find that I always sleep better in dreams than I do in reality,” Linhardt replied. His mouth flattened, eyes lowered. “I hope I’m not simply saying this to make myself feel better. I still would rather that nobody die pointlessly, no matter what comes after.”

“I know,” Byleth said quietly. He reached, carefully, to stroke Linhardt’s hair. Little affections between them had come easily since Remire. After such death, Byleth had reached for someone who wanted only to live in peace. He still wasn’t sure what Linhardt wanted back. This early in the cycle he still thought of himself mostly as a person that held a sword, despite his apparent success as a teacher. “As long as I yet live, I’ll keep all of you safe,” he murmured. The pulse of Sothis’ presence still strong in his chest, not yet lost to him.

Linhardt laughed thinly. “You’ve said that to me before. But I hope you’re right.”

\---

It had taken talking to Nader for Claude to find out where Linhardt had died. Claude led Byleth through the rubble, over the bodies of Empire soldiers decimated by the wyvern reinforcements. He knew they weren’t without regret for all of these deaths. It just hurt more, when it was someone from Garreg Mach.

Byleth broke into hysterical laughter when they found him. Claude had gone to catch her as she buckled, but she leapt forward. Linhardt was lying on his back, one neat cleave of an axe slashed red across his chest.

“He-- looks-- like-- he's-- dreaming--” she choked between strangled breaths, crouching at the dead mage’s feet. She wasn’t wrong. His face was strangely peaceful. He looked like Linhardt always had.

“It’s strange,” Claude said. Byleth lifted her head, fell eerily silent in her rapt attention. “Nader said that when they broke through the lines, and his men scattered, he didn’t—he didn’t run, didn’t fight back. He just closed his eyes, like he’d been waiting.”

The laughter started again, still concerning but less breathless. “Whatever was he going to do by himself? He’s a medic.”

Claude would never be quite sure if that was it. If it was Linhardt’s pacifism that affected her so strongly. He had no blade, not even as a backup. Byleth leaned forward and brushed Linhardt’s hair from his face, pressed her lips to his forehead. This Claude would never know the lives where she would do the same to him, in turn. Other cycles, less manic than her second.

She stood, wiping Linhardt’s blood down the front of her shirt. A moment more, and she turned away.

“Let’s go,” she said. Claude followed. She didn’t look back, not at either of them. “Let’s go, and make this future the best we can.”

\---

The sky was morning-red above the monastery, the machinations of Edelgard’s new empire churning through the building beneath. Linhardt huddled irritably against Byleth, his stiff-collared coat a poor protection from the winter chill.

“Byleth,” Linhardt asked quietly. “Do you think anything can be worth the amount of blood we've had to shed?”

Maybe Sothis could have answered, if Byleth could still have heard her. “I don’t know,” Byleth said. “I killed a lot of people before I came to the monastery. This doesn’t look very different, from where I stand.”

“That’s only logical, of course,” Linhardt replied. “The world we lived in before was built on just as much blood. I simply read about it, rather than living it. Perhaps this whole world is pointless, if the misery of the dead always outweighs the happiness of the living.”

Byleth shook his head. “Do you think things could have turned out differently?”

“In another world,” Linhardt said faintly. “I imagine so. This isn’t inevitable. Do you think it’s a kinder world, there?”

“I don’t know,” Byleth replied. In another life, he was standing here when Claude convinced him that even if there was no perfect cycle, there was value in each path. “Just different, for better and worse.”

“Perhaps I’ll dream my way there one day,” Linhardt said. "To that other world, where you may not know me." The threads of the tapestry were starting to fray. Byleth could see little further past Edelgard’s victory or defeat, just as he could see little of the time before he met Sothis. Linhardt leaned closer, his heavy hair falling across Byleth’s shoulders. “But in this world, I think I can make do like this.”


End file.
